True Callings
by snoopctm
Summary: Sister Mary Cynthia and Shelagh Turner consider their life paths and callings. This is a major revision of the story originally called "Change of Habit".
1. Chapter 1--Change of Habit

_**Author's note—this story has been significantly revised since I first published it to make it more canon-compliant (it was originally written before episode 4x05). Also, I've decided to expand the scope of this story to further explore the idea of different but equally valid callings. It's now going to be two chapters (the second one will be about Shelagh), and I've changed the title, although this first chapter will keep the story's original name.**_

_**This story takes place during episodes 4x05 and 4x06 of CtM.**_

Sister Mary Cynthia sat on her bed in her small cell at Nonnatus House, relieved to finally get off of her feet after a long, rather interesting but still exhausting day. She looked around the small, sparely furnished room, thinking of her former quarters in the nurses' wing. Remembering all the trappings that now belonged to an earlier time, she found now that she barely missed them. The joy of her newfound calling was so fresh in her mind, and her heart. When Sister Winifred had shown her to this room, she had been surprised at how basic it was, but also unperturbed. A bed and a few other basic furnishings were all there were in this room, with very little ornamentation. This would be home for her now, and the sister was glad. There had been so much change in her life in the past six months. This was a new place for her, but also an old place. She would be learning a new life, but in a way it was an extension of her old life. That sentiment gave her comfort, and she thanked God for His constancy.

Still a novice and just starting out in the Order, the sister had considered her religious name, finally settling on Mary Cynthia. She knew she'd be returning to her friends, who all knew her as Cynthia, and she thought keeping her name similar would help. It also helped her, she had to admit. She had liked being Cynthia, even though she was glad now to be a sister. This name, like this place, would be the best of both worlds. She smiled, sighing in her weariness, but also in contentment. This would be all right, she thought.

Sitting on her bed and taking in the room around her, she noticed the small chest of drawers standing against the wall, ready to receive the few clothes she had. When it came time to empty her suitcase, she walked to the chest and opened the top drawer, noticing one item already neatly folded and lying in its place—a spare habit, mentioned in passing earlier that day by Sister Julienne. She had the one she was wearing, which had been new, as well as a worn spare one from Chichester, but the older sister had found this clean, well-maintained one in storage and thought it might fit her small frame. It was always useful, she said, to have an extra one or two in their line of work. Studying the garment, she noticed that it was in fact, very well taken-care of, and although it obviously wasn't new, it looked to be in better condition than the extra one she had brought. It was crisp and blue, with a stiff, starched white wimple and collar. How long had it been in storage, she wondered, but surely it must have been cleaned and pressed before Sister Julienne could give it to her. Taking it out of the drawer, she carefully unfolded it, holding it out in front of her. Yes, it looked like this one would fit. Still, she thought she best try it on in case it needed shortening or alteration. As small as she was, most of her clothes had needed alterations to the length and sleeves, including her habits.

She carefully placed the wimple and collar back in the drawer before returning to the habit. It was in two pieces, with the outer portion, the scapular, buttoned together at the top as all habits in this Order were, although novices such as herself only wore the basic garment, the dress. Separating the scapular from the rest of the habit, she also placed it back in the drawer and started to unbutton the dress, and as she did so she saw a small white piece of fabric just peeking out from the back of the dress at the top. Examining it, she noticed it was a tag, just like those sewn into all habits for identification and laundry purposes. Worn, and in not nearly as pristine condition as the rest of the habit. It had obviously been sewn into the garment years ago by whoever used to wear it. It looked frayed at the base, with a small scissor cut as if someone had tried to remove it, but ultimately had decided not to. Curious, she examined it closely, seeing if she could read the faded numbers that were printed there. All sisters in the Order were assigned a number when they joined. She frowned, as she only thought she could read one of the digits, and even that wasn't entirely clear. She thought she had been told that the numbers were recycled, each one reused when a sister either passed on or left the Order, but there was no way of knowing now whose habit this had been, as faded as the numbers were. Her frown gradually turned to a smile-a small slight smile at first that eventually widened into a grin. She had no idea if she was right, but thinking of this habit and her own small stature, she had in mind someone else it might have fit. Still smiling, she laid the habit down on the bed. She would try it on later, she thought, as a face came to mind-a wimple-clad face that she once knew, fading out and reforming into the same face without the wimple, fair-haired and cheerful. It was the kind, bespectacled face of a dear friend, for whom God's path had led in a very different direction to her own. No, she did not know for sure if this habit, had belonged to the former sister, and even if she had known her number she wouldn't be able to tell for sure, as two of the digits had faded beyond recognition. Their order had been around for many years and it could have belonged to any of the various sisters who had served at Nonnatus House in that time. Still, but it was a nice thought. Still smiling, Sister Mary Cynthia sat back on the bed. Yes, she thought, this had been a full day, but a very good one.

* * *

A few weeks later on a quiet evening at Nonnatus House, Sister Mary Cynthia returned from a not-so-quiet day, as she had delivered a baby and tended to an elderly patient at the Travellers' camp, only to see the same dear old woman pass away just an hour or so later. It had been exhausting, with such great happiness and sadness in such a short period of time. She had been struck by the sense of community at the camp, and while she rode home these remarkable women, Attracta and Pegeen, had been on her mind. There seemed to be nobody around when she arrived. She remembered there was an event at the community center tonight-a charity square dance. Assuming the nurses must be upstairs preparing for the dance, she wandered into the kitchen for a quick rest and a cup of tea, only to be greeted by Sister Winifred, just returning downstairs from changing out of her prayer veil after chapel.

As the sister closest in age to Sister Mary Cynthia, Sister Winifred had proven a welcome friend and confidant for the newest member of the Order. It had been the first time since returning from Chichester that Sister Mary Cynthia had missed evening prayer, because she had been caught up in this unexpected but necessary work. She wearily told her friend about her day, marveling at the close bonds of the family she had visited and their shared experiences of joy and grief. The almost always cheerful Sister Winifred merely listened, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder by way of comfort, and for many minutes, the two sat there, sipping tea and commiserating without need of words.

"We had a guest at evening prayer tonight," Sister Winifred said after a time, sensing a need to lighten the mood. "Mrs. Turner. You just missed her." Here, the sister smiled. "Lovely voice."

Sister Mary Cynthia nodded, thinking again of that smiling, wimple-less face. "Yes. She led the sisters in song many times when she was still in the Order."

"So I've been told." Here, Sister Winifred dropped her smile, only briefly. "I still wish I had met her when she was still Sister Bernadette. What was she like?"

Sister Mary Cynthia thought for a moment, then finally spoke. "Much the same, really. Well, at first, anyway."

"At first?"

Sister Mary Cynthia knew her friend was asking only out of simple curiosity and not to needlessly pry. She had known that Sister Winifred had been informed by Sister Julienne very shortly after her arrival exactly who she was replacing and why. The reason for the directness, Sister Julienne had told her, was precisely to circumvent the gossip she might hear around Poplar. It was better to hear it from Sister Julienne herself, who was a valued and trusted friend of the former sister, than from careless, misinformed and sometimes malicious busybodies. Moreover, she was informed that Mrs. Turner was still a much beloved friend of Nonnatus House and she was to be welcomed warmly whenever she chose to visit. Sister Mary Cynthia saw no harm in answering Sister Winifred's question as simply and directly as possible, so she considered it, and then spoke.

"She was always so confident when I first knew her. So cheerful and capable. But then, the year before she left, she started to seem less like herself. Distracted, I suppose, and sad. She started spending extra time in Chapel, and even Sister Monica Joan noticed. I remember wondering what could have upset her so, but she was still the best midwife we had, and a kind and dear friend. I think Sister Julienne was very concerned for her."

Sister Winifred thought for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "Distracted and sad? Was that because of Dr. Turner?"

"I'm not entirely sure" was Sister Mary Cynthia's reply. "Probably, I suppose. I think it may have been more than that. We've never talked about it. I don't think she's talked about that time very much with anyone except Sister Julienne, and I assume Dr. Turner." She paused for a moment to take a sip of her tea, and then continued. "I remember when she was about to be discharged from the sanatorium. You were told she had tuberculosis?"

Sister Winifred nodded, and her friend continued.

"Well, when Sister Julienne told us she was going to be discharged, she said Sister Bernadette wasn't coming back here. She was supposed to go to the Mother House to reflect and consider whether she wanted to stay in the Order, but she didn't go. I guess she made up her mind sooner than she had thought."

At that, Sister Winifred could only nod again, and Sister Mary Cynthia frowned.

"I remember questioning her decision then. I didn't know it at the time, but I think God had already started to put that longing in my heart. That calling. I wondered how Sister Bernadette could ever leave a life that seemed so beautiful to me. So fulfilled. It wasn't until I was making my own decision that I recognized myself in her. That longing for a different life."

"A different calling," Sister Winifred added.

"Yes," agreed the young novice. "Different, but just as sacred." She smiled, a gentle smile. "I look at her now, and I see what I feel. A sense of belonging. The feeling of being where God has made to you to be."

Sister Winifred couldn't argue with that. She had seen the looks of contentment on both faces—that of her newest sister and of the former Sister Bernadette, now Mrs. Turner.

Later, after a few minutes silence as she finished her tea, Sister Mary Cynthia had another thought. "I was wondering. Did anyone ever tell you what Sister Bernadette's number was?"

Sister Winifred gave her a blank look, and finally answered with "No. I don't think so. Why?"

"Never mind. Only curious," was the reply, and so the conversation was left.

* * *

A few hours later, alone in her room during the Great Silence, Sister Mary Cynthia's weary mind drifted in various directions. Even after a time of silent prayer, she still found her mind unable to settle on one subject, as full and draining as this day had been. She lay back on her bed, looking up at the ceiling and trying to sort out her brain.

First, remembering her earlier conversation with Sister Winifred, she thought of Shelagh, and how even though she and her friend had taken directly opposite paths, in a way they seemed surprisingly similar. They both had been led from one life in which they had functioned but never been entirely fulfilled, into a new life in which they seemed even more free. Since she had returned from the Mother House, the young sister hadn't been able to spend much time with Mrs. Turner. She saw her occasionally at the surgery and maternity home when she had to call in there, and although Shelagh was always as friendly and kind as ever, they never really had the chance to talk. And there was the one day recently, when Dr. Turner had been ill and the sister had seen the need to call him in on that critical case involving Mrs. Khatun and her diphtheria. The doctor was obviously weary, but he lost no time responding to the call, and he had saved Mrs. Khatun's life. Mrs. Turner had arrived shortly afterwards with the vaccines for the rest of the family, and she had worked with the doctor, the sister and Nurse Gilbert in preparing and administering them. It had startled the sister at first to notice that Mrs. Turner was now wearing the uniform of a nurse, although it seemed so natural and fitting that she never really questioned why.

It didn't take long to get the whole household vaccinated with a doctor and three nurses in attendance, but although Sister Mary Cynthia had been focused on the work, she couldn't help but notice the somewhat unusual style of communication going on between the doctor and Mrs. Turner. They spoke very few words but seemed to know exactly what the other needed, and they worked seamlessly as a formidable, efficient team. There were also no words necessary to see the great regard, and obvious love, between them. It shone clearly in their eyes whenever they looked at each other, and it wasn't maudlin or overdramatic or ostentatious. It was just there, a clear matter of fact.

Later that night, as she and Nurse Gilbert returned to Nonnatus House, Barbara had even mentioned noticing that connection between the Turners, calling it "sweet" and smiling wistfully, also remarking on Mrs. Turner's obvious, but also unspoken, concern for her husband's well-being. She had then added, similar to Sister Winifred earlier this evening, that it would have been interesting to have met Mrs. Turner when she was still Sister Bernadette, but had just left the subject there without asking any questions. Apparently someone had told Barbara something of Shelagh's history as well. Probably Trixie or Sister Julienne, she had assumed. It was probably for the best, she thought, to keep the mystery at a minimum, especially now that Mrs. Turner and her family were such frequent guests at Nonnatus House, and Shelagh was there almost every week for tea with Sister Julienne. She was their friend and colleague, and it was a joy to see her so happy. Now that everyone knew the facts, too many questions simply weren't needed.

Turning her thoughts in a different direction, she considered more her own path. She had lived in the world as a nurse, worked among the people, helped them and eased their suffering to the best of her ability. That had seemed vocation enough to her, for a time. Still, as much as she loved nursing and midwifery, and as much as she valued her friends and colleagues, there had been something missing. And like Mrs. Turner, that something had involved love, but not the love of a man. For Cynthia, romance had always been intriguing but at the same time confusing. Aside from a few vague imaginings when she was younger, it was not something she personally yearned for. This was a love of a different kind, which she knew was shared by Mrs. Turner, and Nurse Noakes, and many other devout friends and acquaintances whose callings lay in other directions, even though they still loved God and sought to follow His path for them. For her, it was different. She felt so drawn by this particular, mysterious love, and once she stopped being afraid of it, found it was more than enough for her. As she had told Sister Winifred earlier, it was a different calling, but just as sacred. Just as holy. And she could still be a nurse and a midwife, but now she could be much more as well.

Finally, her mind turned back to the matter that had been most weighing on her mind these recent hours: to the events of her day. To Attracta and Pegeen and Breda and the close bonds of the extended family at the Traveller's camp. She knew it would be a grieving time for them tonight, so shortly after the rejoicing in a new birth. Pegeen had lived a long, full and devoted life, and her legacy would carry on in all the lives she had helped bring into the world, and those she had nurtured since birth. And the community would continue, as they traveled to new places and greeted new lives, new sorrows and new hopes. As little as she had known them, this group had made an impact on the sister. She was sure they would move on soon, but she would always remember them.

Family was a curious thing. Curious, but essential, and the sister thought of how so many around her had found their own family. How the nurses had bonded in their work and in sharing their lives together under the roof of Nonnatus House, and how Mrs. Turner had found fulfillment with her husband and children, as well as renewed friendships with the sisters and nurses. Then she thought of herself, and how the sisters were now her own family. Like the Travellers and their generations of tradition, she was a part of an order that extended back for many decades. Many sisters had served here in that time, and countless bonds had been formed. As depleted as she had felt from her day, she found comfort in these notions of interconnection and permanence even in the transience of life. She was here now, and this was where she belonged.

Standing up, she walked over to the chest against the wall and opened the top drawer, staring at the neatly folded spare habit, just catching a glimpse of the tag. Although she had sewn a new tag with her number next to it, she wouldn't remove the old, faded one.. No matter who the owner of this old habit had been, that tag had started this line of reflection, and she was grateful for that. The sister would keep the tag as it was. It would always be a reminder to her of God's leading, and His excellent wisdom. She knew she, and her friends, were where they were supposed to be, and even in this day's whirl of emotions, she knew she had found her place.


	2. Chapter 2--Being Shelagh

_This story takes place during episodes 4x05 and 4x06 of CtM_

_Disclaimer—These characters, and this show, are not mine. This story includes one line of dialogue from CtM 4x05. _

The two outfits lay side-by-side on her husband's desk. The smart blue suit, neatly pressed, and the brand new nurse's uniform, also blue but lighter in shade than the suit and ever so familiar, even though its new owner had never worn it before. As Shelagh Turner studied them, she still wondered if this was the right decision. After very briefly thinking of how odd it was to be standing here in her slip in Patrick's office, she did wonder if it was right to do this all so secretively. She had awoken bright and early this morning and given her husband an affectionate kiss on the cheek and as much of an embrace as she could with him lying unresponsive and dejected, as she tried vigilantly to hide the little twinge of heartbreak she always felt seeing him like that. Then she had quickly made her way here, where the nurse's uniform was waiting in the place she had left it the previous night. She hadn't told her husband about her troubles at the surgery yesterday, or about her visit with Sister Julienne, or about this uniform at all. He wasn't in a position at the moment to consider much of anything but his own troubles, and that thought concerned her most of all. He had withdrawn from her, and so it seemed, from everyone.

He had done this before, and she winced at the memory of it. Last year-the strained, anguished days after the adoption interview. Then, however, he had only withdrawn from her, and then he had been able to put on a front, do his job, present a disguise to the world and, at least for a time, try to pretend nothing was wrong. As painful as that was, she also knew she hadn't handled it well. As much as they loved one another-as much as they had been so clearly and inexplicably drawn to one another during that last agonizing year before she left the Order, the bare fact was that they were essentially near-strangers when they finally met as Patrick and Shelagh on the road that misty autumn day, and their engagement had been so cluttered with activity, concern for Timothy's health, and her own issues of guilt and reconnection with her friends and former sisters, that a normal relationship had hardly been possible. It was only after they were married that they even had much time to truly talk, and then they had to learn how. After their blissful first months as newlyweds, where conversations were mostly about hopes and dreams and the very idea that they could finally be together, another crisis had intervened. It was not just the infertility, either, but Shelagh's own discovery of how to live a life as Shelagh and not Sister Bernadette.

Perhaps she had gone too far in throwing off all the trappings of her former life, but looking back now she saw it had been useful, at least for a time. Painful, but useful, for now she was learning how much of her identity as Sister Bernadette had been essential to her present life. Looking at the two dresses on the desk, she remembered another outfit-the habit that had been her only clothing for a full decade. She didn't miss it at all-well, perhaps occasionally on very cold winter days when the idea of being wrapped head-to-toe in wool was somewhat comforting. Still, despite its physical warmth, that manner of dress was happily in the past for her. Looking at the uniform again, another face came to her mind unbidden-wearing that uniform, but then fading out and reforming into the same face clad in wimple-and-wool. Sister Mary Cynthia had, somewhat surprisingly, taken the opposite route as Shelagh had, joining the order and renouncing her former life in the outside world. Shelagh hadn't had the chance to speak to or even see the new sister very much since she had arrived back in Poplar, but Sister Julienne had mentioned her briefly while looking through the Nonnatus store room at the uniforms.

"These are the smallest size we have," the elder sister had said, cheerfully rummaging through the pile of uniforms. "Nurse Miller's size… when she was still Nurse Miller. I don't know if she had to alter them." Turning back to Shelagh briefly, she glanced up and down at her before turning to take a uniform off the shelf. "Hopefully, it will fit," she said, turning to hand the uniform to Shelagh before returning to collect the accessories.

Shelagh's mind had been so far from thinking about the new Sister Mary Cynthia at that point, though. Her thoughts were only of her husband, hoping desperately to help him. She thought of his distant expression as she had reached out to him that morning in attempted encouragement. How she had kissed his forehead and his cheek, and how he had not pushed her away but he hadn't responded either. He looked so lifeless, so helpless, and she was left powerless. She couldn't push like she had tried at first last year. She couldn't offer ultimatums. She also couldn't walk gingerly around him and simply hope he would talk to her like she had eventually done before. Now, as he had lost his will to do anything but lie in bed, stare at walls and lose himself in a mire of self-pity and doubt, she had to let him know she was there, but quietly and simply. She couldn't cajole or pry but she couldn't shrink back, either, even from her own fears that she had shared with Sister Julienne. He needed her help, and she prayed that eventually he would receive it, but Sister Julienne was right. She had to believe.

She had to remember the past few wonderful months since their reconciliation-that quiet resolution to finally begin truly speaking. And they had, and it had been glorious. There had grown between them this comfortable intimacy, which they had cultivated in the form of deep private conversations but also of looks, touches, and expressions that they quickly learned to read. This joy of being in sync and the freedom of living out that sense of harmony in seemingly mundane, everyday ways. Now bringing herself back to the present, and thinking of her husband lying listless in his bed at home, she knew she had to get that back, but she couldn't just make it happen. She had to hope, and remember, and pray, but just as importantly, she had to act.

She had to be here, doing what she was best able to do-keep the surgery operating while he was away, tending to the patients and keeping things running as smoothly as possible. She had to overcome the reticence of the patients and show them she knew what she was doing. Perhaps that shouldn't be necessary, but it seemed that it was and she wasn't in a place to argue. She was a nurse already, but if this uniform was going to make the patients feel better so she could do her job, she would wear it. She picked it up and, quickly but deliberately, put it on, slipping on the dress and carefully buttoning it, smoothing out the wrinkles and adjusting the waist. She donned the apron, tying it into place. Somewhat surprisingly, this uniform was a perfect fit, almost as if it had been made specifically for her. Finally, as she gazed into the small mirror on the wall, she settled the cap into place. Seeing her own face staring back at her, a fully outfitted nurse, she couldn't help but smile. Perhaps this uniform was merely a formality, but she had to admit that wearing it felt right.

This was her uniform now, at least for the time being. Thinking about her crisp suits and the efficiency with which she always purposed to run the surgery, and about the long discarded habit, she accepted this new form of dress, and embraced it. How long she had avoided this moment, as inevitable as it now seemed in hindsight. Now, even in the hardships and heartbreaking realities of today, she never for once regretted her decision to leave her former life and begin a new one. She quietly marveled at God's wisdom, knowing she was ready for a time like this because of her previous life. Remembering her months of indecision in the sanatorium, it all seemed so long ago now. This is who she was, and where she was meant to be. Checking herself in the mirror one last time, she returned to the suit on the desk, folding it carefully and leaving it there. She would be back at lunchtime to change and return to relieve dear Timothy of the job of looking after Patrick, if only for an hour or so before she had to return here and resume this essential duty. Oh, how grateful she was for Timothy and sweet little Angela, who brightened her days still in the midst of this gloom.

She picked up the keys to the surgery and set her mind to her task. Closing the door behind her, she walked with purpose to the front door, opening it to greet today's throng of patients, with a smile that only grew wider as the patients greeted her with wave after wave of "Good morning, Nurse. " At that moment, she was sure. This was for Patrick, and she knew she had done the right thing.

* * *

Shelagh walked surely, but not too quickly, in the light of a late summer evening, a light smile on her face as she recalled her eventful day. She had spent a few hours at the surgery, changing dressings, visiting with expectant mothers, consulting with her husband on a few simple cases, organizing a few files. Thankfully, it wasn't an especially busy day, and she had been able to return home in the early afternoon, change out of her uniform, and head to Nonnatus House for tea with Sister Julienne and evening prayer with the sisters. Her smile widened as she remembered Patrick's reaction when she told him of her mentor's invitation to stay and sing with her former sisters. His broad grin had surprised her slightly, but she was glad he was happy. He knew this brought her joy, and her joy made him more joyful. He knew how important the sisters were to her, and singing as well.

As busy as her life was now, she'd had to give up leading the Poplar Choral Society, although she was satisfied that at least they had found a new director and wouldn't disband without her. Still, there was something about singing the prayers that still held a special place in Shelagh's heart more than any other kind of music. It had been months since she had last been able to join them, but now she would remind herself to do so more often. She had much to be thankful for, having had her husband returned to her in such a wonderful way a few weeks ago. In the quietness of a patient's kitchen, they were both reminded of their need for one another with a quick but joyful kiss and a warm, enveloping embrace. A healing embrace. It was a more intense moment than they usually shared outside of their home, but it was what they both needed, and they welcomed the moment with relief and joy. It was the beginning of a new wave of closeness in their marriage, if that was even to be believed considering the previous months. They had walked home completely at ease that evening, talking freely and taking their time to get home. They had spent that night sleeping curled up in one another's arms, holding for dear life. It had been an exhausting day for both of them, and they found their peace together.

Now, a few weeks later, everything was in a new place, it seemed, and as hectic as things could occasionally be, it was as if it had all been planned. Shelagh was wearing the nurse's uniform every day at the surgery and maternity home, and now she struggled to understand why she had waited so long to put it on. She had been in the religious life for ten years, used to being told what to do-to doing what was expected of her. Upon leaving the order, perhaps she had carried that over into her personal life, she considered. A wife and mother wasn't supposed to work-especially a doctor's wife. She had wanted to be the ideal housewife, but she had found herself feeling restless at home, even after Angela had arrived. The first few weeks had been demanding, but Angela was a good-natured child and Shelagh soon found she was portable, and so she was brought along on clinic days, and when needed, to the surgery. When Shelagh finally realized she was needed full-time at the surgery, they'd hired a housekeeper to help and watch Angela when Shelagh was out of the house. It was a good fit, she admitted. Her need to be working, and helping, and healing, was real and could no longer be ignored. The nurse's uniform was simply the next logical step along the road that she had started on when she left the Order of St. Raymond Nonnatus almost two years previous.

Her calling all those years ago to the religious life had been so strong, and it had included the call as a nurse and midwife. Now, walking back from Nonnatus, she wondered if this is what had been the plan all along, this unusual relationship with the sisters along with her work. She still felt so connected to the sisters-more so than ever, now that she thought about it. Even when she had lived with them, especially in the later years there had been this doubt-this pull toward the outside. This war between two different worlds. Now, there was no such battle.

She still wondered why she had stayed away from the sisters for so long after she left. It was only a few weeks, but it had been too long. She knew that day before her original wedding day, when Timothy was so ill, Patrick was in distress, and she was kept from helping them. In her own trouble, she knew immediately where she needed to go, and that's where she went. She didn't even stop to think until she was on the stairs to the sisters' temporary quarters, but even then she didn't pause for long. She found comfort singing with the nuns that night, and she knew that in some way these women would always be her sisters.

And Sister Julienne was more-sister, mother, dear friend, confidant, mentor. There were too many words and not one that exactly fit. She was all of those things and more, and even more so now. The two would still meet at Nonnatus for tea as close to once a week as their schedules allowed. She had made her peace with Sister Evangelina in stages, but there was nothing but affection there now as well, and Sister Monica Joan had accepted her the moment she walked into the hall that winter night almost two years ago. Sister Winifred had never known her as Sister Bernadette, but Shelagh had known she had been informed of her history soon after her arrival. Since the Turners worked so closely with Nonnatus House, Shelagh had agreed that it was better if everyone who worked there knew, and so it was.

Her past was not exactly a secret anyway, but talking about it with anyone she hadn't known well hadn't been easy, so she usually avoided the subject. She wondered now if that was even needed. She wasn't ashamed of Sister Bernadette. She had been happy in that life for most of the ten years she had lived it. And now, the sisters were still here for her whenever she needed them, which had been a comforting thought when she'd been so overwhelmed with work, and she had taken Patrick's advice to seek help with the name tapes for Timothy's grammar school clothes. She had planned to pick those up today, but upon arrival she had been informed that Sister Winifred had just left a short while before to call at the surgery, and she had taken the clothes with her. She apparently had just missed her. Shelagh assumed Patrick would bring them home from there, and she made a point of thanking Sister Winifred and Sister Evangelina for their help before service that evening.

She sped up her pace as she turned into her street. As she approached her flat, she remembered her one disappointment this evening. That had been that Sister Mary Cynthia had been out tending to patients, and so Shelagh hadn't seen her at evening prayer. One of these days, she had to make a point of talking to the new young sister. It was a remarkable thing to consider, that the two of them had been led on such opposite paths but had both found more happiness than they could have otherwise imagined. They had switched uniforms, as it were, if not literally than close enough. For Shelagh, the dark blue wool of the habit had given way to the light blue cotton of the nurse's garb, and for Sister Mary Cynthia, it had been the other way around. What a wondrous, unusual thing to imagine. God works in mysterious ways indeed, thought Shelagh as she finally approached her door.

She knew her husband should be waiting for her inside. They were going to a square dance this evening, and Shelagh was looking forward to it. Fishing her keys from her purse and preparing to open the door, she quietly gave thanks for her day, and for her place in life. She had been Shelagh Mannion for 22 years, and then Sister Bernadette for ten. It wasn't quite two years yet that she had been Shelagh Turner, but she knew now more than ever that she was where she was supposed to be, and she was content.


	3. Epilogue--Two Folders, Two Lives

_This takes place sometime between episodes 4x07 and 4x08 of CtM._

Two files sat side by side on Sister Julienne's desk at Nonnatus House. It had been a busy morning, organizing old paperwork for long-term storage, and the sister had been glad of the help she had received. With the resourceful assistance of Sister Winifred, the paperwork had been sorted, filed, re-filed and boxed, with the current files organized and the older files sent to the storage room. Why she was now sitting here staring at these two particular files was something of a wonder to consider.

Both files were similar on the outside—the usual olive green folders full of notes, records and dates. Both were curiously labeled, each with two names. The original names had been neatly crossed out—a single, clean line running through so the writing was still clearly legible—and each had a new name written just as carefully above it. The file on the left was older—twelve years old, with its neighbor only four. What struck the sister most of all, though, was not the files themselves as much as the stories behind them, and the two dear women they represented.

* * *

It had been late in the sorting process, and Sister Julienne was just getting to the last few folders in the nurses' file when Sister Winifred had called her attention to the folder, which had been found in the drawer of sisters' records. A curious expression on her usually smiling face, the young sister pulled the folder out of the drawer and held it up.

"Sister Julienne?" she asked, looking at the name on the file. Sister Julienne turned to look and noticed that she had pulled the file from the very back of the drawer—the place where they had kept the records of sisters who had left the order. Sister Winifred raised her eyes.

"I know you said these files go in the box, but what about this one?" She brought the file over so that the elder sister could see the names—"Sister Bernadette" had been crossed out, with the name "Mannion, Shelagh" written above it.

"Ah!" Sister Julienne's eyes widened with recognition.

"Sister Bernadette, and Shelagh—that's Mrs. Turner, isn't it?"

Sister Julienne gently took the folder, nodding. "Yes." She ran her fingers along the names. "I remember the day I re-filed this, two years ago now."

"You want to keep it out of the box, of course." The young sister smiled. This hadn't been a question.

Sister Julienne nodded. "Two years," she said again. "What a difference that makes."

"Indeed," Sister Winifred said. "I hadn't even met her two years ago. She's always been Mrs. Turner to me." She reached for the folder. "Where should we put it, then? Back in the sisters' file, or maybe in the nurses' drawer?"

Sister Julienne gently waved the younger sister's hand away, keeping her own hands on the folder. "Now that's a curious matter. She's not technically employed by us, you know." That was true, although Shelagh wore a Nonnatus uniform with the full blessing and support of Nonnatus House, and especially Sister Julienne.

She placed the file on her desk. "We can leave it here for now. I'll have to consider it."

Sister Winifred returned to her task, removing dusty old folders from the drawer, wiping them off, and placing them in the clean new box that would soon be gathering its own dust in the Nonnatus House storeroom. Sister Julienne returned her own attention to the nurses' files, arranging the current ones in order and removing any that were ten years or more out of date, stacking them on her desk. After a time, Sister Winifred looked up again. She was holding a particularly worn-looking folder and eying it curiously.

"Do they usually keep in touch?"

Sister Julienne looked up. "Pardon?"

Sister Winifred held up the folder. "The sisters who have left. I don't think I've heard much about it before."

Sister Julienne stood for a moment, looking at the earnest young sister. She thought back, trying to remember. "Some of them have, but not closely. An occasional letter or Christmas card, and there are some who have kept in closer touch with particular sisters. For the most part, however, when a sister leaves the order we rarely see her again."

Sister Winifred's eyes brightened. "So, Mrs. Turner's case is rather… unusual, isn't it?"

Sister Julienne nodded. "Yes. Very unusual. In my experience, it's unique." Here, she smiled. "But then, so is Shelagh Turner."

The young sister also smiled. "Yes. I sometimes wish I'd met her when she was still Sister Bernadette, if only to hear her voice in chapel every day. It's lovely."

Glancing at Shelagh's folder again, Sister Julienne paused for a moment, lost in nebulous thoughts she couldn't track, until finally one took shape. "There was a time when I sincerely hoped she'd follow in my footsteps. That this would be her office one day."

Sister Winifred stood up. "And now?"

"Now, I see what Sister Evangelina is always saying. That everything happens for a reason." She picked up the folder, opening it and leafing through the papers. A list of facts, dates, vital statistics—all woefully inadequate to illustrate the life they represented. And then, Sister Winifred suddenly laughed. Sister Julienne stared at her, questioning.

"Sorry, Sister. I was remembering something young Timothy said to me the last time they were here." She walked over to join Sister Julienne as she closed the folder again.

"He said that he's glad Mrs. Turner isn't a nun anymore, because he's not only gained a mum. He's gained a lot of crazy aunties as well."

Sister Julienne couldn't help but chuckle, and inside she felt nothing but gratitude. She had once been afraid that perhaps she would lose one of her most beloved sisters. Who would have known that it would have taken this unusual path to not only restore such a vital relationship, but to make it all the stronger?

* * *

The filing hadn't taken much longer. Soon she and Sister Winifred had carried the boxes to the storeroom, and the young sister had taken her leave to see to her daily rounds. It was an office morning for Sister Julienne, so here she was at her desk, looking at those two files. The second one had come to her mind when Sister Winifred was turning out the light in the storeroom and the two sisters were about to go their separate ways. Just as Sister Julienne had turned her back, Sister Winifred called after her.

"I just had a curious thought," she said as Sister Julienne turned again to face her.

"And what is that?"

Sister Winifred smiled. "I was thinking of those file drawers. It just struck me that there's one person we know whose folder has been in both places."

Sister Julienne looked at her for a moment, and then nodded. "Ah, yes. I'm glad our newest novice is settling in so well."

This remark was met by the usual wide smile. "Yes. Very well, it seems. She seemed a little… unsure at first but she looks much happier now."

"Yes, she's finding her joy, it appears," replied the older sister.

And so now here she was with both files on her desk. The newer one had a definite place, in the drawer of sisters' records. "Miller, Cynthia" had been neatly lined through and replaced with "Sister Mary Cynthia" above it. It was the exact reverse of Shelagh's folder. In fact, their whole lives seemed to be odd mirrors of each other, reflecting in different directions. Recalling her earlier conversation with Sister Winifred, she realized that it wasn't only Shelagh Turner's path that had been unique. At least in her 11 years at Nonnatus, she couldn't remember a single nurse on their staff who had decided to join the order. Perhaps it had happened in the past, but she knew of no such cases. She marveled at the curiosity of it and she could only concede that it must be God's hand, because only He would be able to orchestrate such a thing.

Her thoughts turned to the soft-spoken young novice who was just starting to find her way in her new role in the order, gaining confidence in her studies and a new found happiness in both her nursing duties and the daily offices. Sister Julienne had admired Cynthia Miller's dedication, compassion and commitment to her work and her patients. Now, she was getting to know her as her newest beloved sister. Then, there was her dear former sister who had also struggled in her first year after leaving the religious life, although she now seemed to be thriving beyond Sister Julienne's wildest imaginations. It was a wonder to see how well Shelagh fit into her new life, and to clearly see how her old life had prepared her for it. Sister Julienne had never seriously doubted that Shelagh had made the right decision, especially once she knew the reason for it and saw the joy in her eyes when she spoke of Dr. Turner. Still, she had to admit she had struggled with the idea of not seeing her dear friend every day. She had mentored so many young sisters over the years, and she loved them all. It must be natural, however, that some would become more dear than others. Still this one was even more so—almost a daughter, if she had to categorize it. And she was contented and proud, knowing now so well that Shelagh Turner was where she was supposed to be.

Two young women, two folders, two lives. They had even swapped uniforms, in a sense. There was Shelagh's new uniform, which she now wore every day at the surgery. Then there was the habit she had left behind. Sister Julienne remembered the spare one she had left in Sister Mary Cynthia's room. The small size of it called to mind the former Sister Bernadette, but as the number on the tag had been faded to near-illegibility, there was no real way of knowing who the previous wearer was, even though the one readable digit did match. It didn't matter, though. What mattered was that Sister Julienne herself had been witness to a remarkable series of events, and these two young women had both been called, as clearly as if there had been an audible announcement.

Returning her attention to the folders, she still wasn't sure what to do, aside from one thing. Thankfully, her handwriting was small enough for there to be room. Finding her pen, she added "(Turner)" after Shelagh's name on the file. Then, taking Sister Mary Cynthia's folder, she placed it back in the sisters' file, leaving Shelagh's folder on her desk. This would take some more thought, she concluded. What's to be done with a situation that has never happened before, and was likely to never happen again? It was a conundrum indeed, but not one for which Sister Julienne had time at present. It was nearly time to join the sisters and nurses for lunch, and so she headed to the door.

Pausing in the doorway for a moment, she glanced at the folder on her desk and remembered another day, two years ago, sat at a desk in another room very much like this one. She had watched as a sister signed a paper, removed a ring and was a sister no more. She had also watched, just over a year later, as a young nurse walked down an aisle in chapel, followed by loved ones and dear sisters. Both had begun new lives, answering the calls that they heard so clearly. She knew that peace did not last and trials would always come in this lifetime, but she was assured that her beloved friend and sister had been prepared to meet whatever challenges would arise. Now, for just a few moments, Sister Julienne could only stand here, stare at a simple green folder and marvel at the wondrous wisdom of God.


End file.
